Zoetrope
by HarunaRei
Summary: Morality is certainly a complicated thing...but then, so is reality.
1. Childhood

At first, he thought the pain was normal. It'd been there from the moment he was activated. He didn't realize that that tiny little tweak, that itty bitty little anomaly, was a herald of greater problems to come. He'd not indicated that anything in his condition was subpar because to him, nothing _was._

He didn't know. To him, pain was _normal._ A part of existing. A trade-off for being alive.

His first weeks were spent that way. They were quiet weeks without a lot of strain on his body. He was learning new things, every experience a first. He was filling his databanks with the wealth of knowledge the world had to offer, and his thirst for that knowledge was unquenchable.

And Dr. Light was so patient. He'd explain everything, sometimes thrice over, until both were satisfied that he _understood._ Occasionally, Dr. Light would write notes in one of his journals, or make a point to note something on the computer in his lab.

He was building a library of baseline data, he'd explained. "You, my boy, will be the template from which every one after you will be cut. The knowledge you gain will be their springboard."

It was engaging.

And that pain continued. It crept up on him so slowly he barely noticed it. The fatigue began when his days became longer and more strenuous, when his processors didn't need so much time offline to sort through his new experiences.

Nearly two months in and Dr. Light found him on the lab floor.

That was the second time he woke up on a lab table. The first time he'd been told what repairs meant.

Dr. Light's efforts didn't fully stave the pain off. It was still there, gnawing at him deep inside, in a place that couldn't be assuaged. But he didn't say anything.

He woke up on a lab table several times after that. Dr. Light's face went from quiet concern to an aggravation with himself to a concealed panic.

It was at that point that the Doctor realized something that his creation did not.

_He didn't know if this was fixable._

Weak as his body was, his mind grew sharp and strong, as did his conviction. It was small things at first. Mild instances of disobedience. Finding better ways to complete tasks. Getting the _mechaniloids_ to do it for him.

He never outright told Dr. Light "no". Instead, he adapted human body language, the same gestures he saw in the lawyers, accountants, and business people that came to visit. The same gestures he saw on TV, or on the street. He realized he could manipulate Dr. Light to say no _for_ him. At least, sometimes.

The Doctor certainly seemed to enjoy telling those strange people to leave him be, at any rate.

The months wore on and his condition didn't get any better. He was prone to painful episodes, sometimes ones that'd force him to rest for days on end.

It was around then that Dr. Light bought him that piano. A distraction, something he could do while sitting and not exerting himself. He played it until the keys were worn.

Then Doctor Light brought another doctor over. Perhaps a second mind would have a better idea how to repair him? By now, he did _not_ like the lab table, but he weathered the examination, the poking, the prodding.

His programming was an issue. The man didn't seem to care how strong-willed the robot was: in fact, he _approved._ But there were issues, errors. Here, and there, didn't Dr. Light see?

By the look on Light's face, he _had. _He didn't want that truth confirmed, though.

Because that programming composed of a large part of his personality matrix, his ethics protocols, and his action/reaction logic chains.

The programming that made him _him_ was what was making him sick.

The two debated back and forth for hours, well past dinner. It was at that point that he realized that programming was something he should know. He should know what comprised himself. He should know how he worked. Maybe he could fix himself if he knew? Maybe he'd see something the Doctors didn't?

He didn't sleep that night. He passed out the following day.

He woke on that damn lab table again, though Dr. Light was relieved that it hadn't been a true episode. The other Doctor left that night, saying that unless Light was willing to act, there was nothing to be done.

He continued playing the piano and studying programming. He continued watching Dr. Light and learning how to act. He watched those people when they came to visit, and he began watching the Company's data. Monetary exchanges, emails, he had access to everything. His passcode into Dr. Light's system barred him from _nothing._

That was the first time he'd ever been the administrator of anything. It only took one day, but he started by reorganizing all the directories into something neater and easier to navigate.

In doing so, he noticed something else. Discrepancies. Assets moved to places they shouldn't be, documents claiming one thing while six others contested it.

He hadn't understood it at the time, so he just watched.

He watched and he learned.

This was how he learned what crime was. He learned what theft meant and why someone may be compelled to do so. He learned what a violation felt like, even if it was Dr. Light that was being violated by this. Embezzlement. There was a word for it.

He didn't realize there was an approved course of action among humans for this. All he saw was a virus of sorts in the system, so he purged it by exposing it.

That was the first time he ever saw that kind of fear in Dr. Light's eyes. Looking back, he understood that even though Light was afraid of _what_ he'd done, he was far more afraid of that implication. He'd been growing so quickly then, but his morals and ethics weren't fully developed. He hadn't been exposed to enough to make a reasonable decision. It had been Blues' fault, yet it hadn't.

What Light did next had been _entirely_ Light's fault, however.

Panicked and desperately trying to protect both himself and this precious child, he made a decision he'd forever regret.

The Three Laws should never have been put into practice, but because of his one rash decision and his blind belief that it'd helped, he helped shape the imminent culling of all his children. All but one.

The Three Laws grated on Blues' systems like nothing he'd experienced before. Constantly interfering, constantly sending jabs that shouldn't have been painful, constantly bending his fingers back to _force _him to do as it told him. He'd been betrayed, hurt, sick to his stomach. He felt worthless, like a mistake, like he had nowhere to go, nowhere to _belong._ His fleeing Light had been the result of that shift. He couldn't survive there, caught between his programming and his suppressed will. He couldn't survive out here, either. He had a choice.

A blessed _choice._

His last act should have been him deciding where he wanted to pass.

He'd learn to accept that that'd merely been the curtain closing on the first act in his life.

**A/N:**

Well, it's been quite a while since I've posted any sort of fanfiction. This story will consist of a collection of drabbles I wrote about Blues on Tumblr, a combination of prompts and requests. I have a nice backlog of a dozen or so, and I'll add on any additional that I'll write. As you can likely guess, I've basically fled Tumblr along with many other creators.

Many of these drabbles are rather short, but each does tell a complete story. I do want to keep this entry to just Blues, but if I begin writing for other characters, I'll figure out a separate thing to post.

Now, there's something I imagine many of you wish to ask me: the status of _Redemption. _It's been a long time, I know. I am still in contact with that co-author (Midnyght) and we are still very close friends, but the longer we spent midway through the next chapter and the more time passed, the more our writing style changed, as well as our characterization.

It pains me to leave it unfinished, but it may stay that way. Right now, Midnyght is dealing with prolonged real-life issues that make it very difficult for her to devote time to the things she enjoys, writing included.

So, for right now, I'm going to say that _Redemption_ is discontinued, with no plans to rewrite. It's nearly 500,000 words. It's an absolute beast, and rewriting it wouldn't be the best use of our time.

That's not to say that Redemption isn't close to my heart. I didn't set out with Mids to leave such an impact on the fandom, but we clearly did. I absolutely adore every piece of feedback we receive for that story, concrit included. I love that even now, I'm still getting reviews and follow notifications in my inbox. I want my future stories to resonate with you too, but with a concrete ending rather than years of limbo for you all. I've been on that side of the fanfiction fence; I know how frustrating that can feel, so I'm truly grateful for everyone's patience in the interim.

Mids and I have a few other story ideas, some partially written, others outlined, but until she's in a place where she can do it, those won't be getting off the ground. I don't want to publish more partially written work for…obvious reasons. I'd much rather be able to give you guys something coherent and completed, something we can be proud of that you can also enjoy.

Which brings me back to these drabbles. I don't know where I'm going with this, or even if it'll be anywhere at all. I will say that if anyone has something they'd like to see, it doesn't hurt to ask in your reviews; I won't guarantee that I'll oblige, but if I see a particularly compelling idea, I may write into it.

And when Mids and I do get something written to a point of completion where we can say a full story arc is done…well, it'll be posted here.


	2. Loopholes and Laws

There were three laws that a Robot Master had to worry about. Just three. Other human laws didn't apply to that full of an extent, and those that needed to were covered by those three. At least, that was the _theory._

The First Law, foremost and, to many, the most important:

A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

There were already some issues with that, but fortunately, he was no automaton. He was able to navigate the muddied, grey world of human morality well enough to satisfy the First Law.

The Second Law was a hindrance, really, a leftover need from the generation that preceded his: A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

He understood the value of life well enough, thank you very much, and he'd be pressed to act even without the Second Law's mandate. It was like an overzealous parent, shouting the task's direction into your ear even as you carried the chore out.

The Third Law was a joke. They meant well by it, he supposed, but it was like an obnoxious branch that no one bothered to remove from the road: A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

The major fallacy with this law could be outlined quite easily with the human euphemism about jumping off a bridge just because someone told you to. No human in their right mind would, but a robot _must_. Because a human's order, covered by the Second Law, was more important than his own existence, protected flimsily by the Third.

Had no one read the stories this originated from? Had no one really caught that the _entire point _of the Laws in the novels was to illustrate what a _bad idea_ they were? That as a safety feature, they were ineffective at best and positively disastrous at worst?

No? Was that just him? It must have been, because they were irrefutably installed in his systems.

It was the product of…well, bad communication, he supposed. He'd been too young and Light too blinded by his own panic for the two of them to come to some kind of real understanding. He didn't like to go over past hurts too intently, finding that it caused a great deal of stress and little else. In the end, he was stuck with these Laws, and there wasn't any truly good way to remove them while keeping _him_ intact.

So.

He learned to live with them. He learned to understand the expectation behind a human's words, and he learned the loopholes hidden in each element of his coding. He'd have made a great lawyer; his logic chains were nothing but convoluted reasons to act _against_ this major component of his programming, often using either the well-being of humanity as a whole or his own twin set of main directives as the leverage. He could chain almost everything to this logic, and the First Law found that it could hardly constrain his actions when the alternative was, "A lot of humans would die and we can't have that."

_No_, the First Law sang in agreement, _we can't have that._

The Second Law and human orders were similarly easy to circumvent _because_ he'd already satisfied the most dominant Law. Even if a human ordered him to stop, he _didn't have to_, because as far as the First Law was concerned, he was acting appropriately.

Like falling dominoes, that left the Third Law, and now he had every reason to go out of his way to ensure his own survival and well-being, because not doing so would mean that the First Law was not being fulfilled. He knew that Light and Wily had to understand that that was how he was circumventing it. Wily approved, even if Blues was actively railing against him now: a great deal of his time on Dr. Wily's lab table had been spent with the aged scientist elbow deep in his mind, trying to _remove_ the damned Laws.

None of Wily's units had them; those directives offended every fiber of Wily's being.

It was a shame that even Wily couldn't extract them. All that pain for nothing. Blues had a hard time being mad, though. That was the first time in a _long_ time someone else had honestly tried to do something to _free_ him.

He hadn't been freed, but he _had_ been armed. More leverage, a larger cage. His systems had evened out, this new power source, while painful in a new way, offered him even _more_ leverage in favor of the Third Law by way of the First: a _lot_ of humans would die if he did go.

The Zeroth Law would have been the Law to completely screw his efforts, and he was eternally grateful that Light hadn't been fool enough to install it.

A robot may not harm humanity, or by inaction, allow humanity to come to harm.

Humanity. The species as a whole. Individuals would no longer matter. The Zeroth Law would have been a carte blanche to do _whatever_ he saw fit, and it would have chained him to a wall, forcing him to act on behalf of a population that didn't even want him there.

A population he honestly didn't care much for.

The Robot Masters were very capable of appropriating human technology and autonomy; they'd been built to manage it so that humanity could put its focus elsewhere, after all. A race of Robot Masters with the Zeroth Law would have spelt disaster for everyone involved.

When he looked at the world that way, his current situation really didn't seem all that bad. Not at all.

At least, that's what he liked to tell himself–for now. He wasn't sure how much longer he could fool himself with it.

**A/N:**

Updated chapter file. I don't know what happened, but it should display now.

It's interesting, looking at how strident the Three Laws of Robotics are written to be. I needed to examine them, if only to figure out how the robot masters with the Laws might plausibly still function. In my interpretation of canon events, Blues has a rather unique instance of them installed, and the method of doing so is what's wreaking so much havoc on his systems.

It took me a little while to choose which of these to post second; I basically had to determine whether I wanted to follow something of a timeline or not.

I decided against posting these chronologically for various reasons, but mostly so that if I did write something later on that fills in an earlier portion of the story arc, I wouldn't have to figure out how to play musical chairs with the chapters. This way, the newest content is the latest chapter.

Thank you for reading, and until next time.


	3. Delirium

His head hurt. Sounds were amplified and distorted. His vision was going in and out, flickering and fuzzy. He couldn't hear, he couldn't see.

He couldn't move.

There was a bright light above him. Swinging? Just hanging? Its glare _hurt. _He tried to focus on it, but his vision was swimming.

And it went offline again.

This time, it was _him_ that'd gone offline, and when he came back up, things were just as hazy and muddled, but there was a shadow over him. It was speaking, he thought, but he blacked out before he could discern its words.

When he came to, it was due to warnings from his processors: a breach. It–he–

He didn't realize he was screaming until his voice cracked.

When he woke again, his head was throbbing, his body taut with stress, and he had a cascade of warnings bombarding his processors. Breaches, adjustments, alterations. _Reprogramming._

He was going to be _sick._

He tried to sit up, but a hand too strong to be human urged him to lie back again. He didn't look to see who.

The shadow approached, a man he knew. A man he should have been able to trust.

Dr. Wily's smile had twisted into something sick and sadistic, a shade of the person he'd once known.

"It's good to see you're awake, Break Man."

**A/N:**

It's a bit interesting, writing for nonhuman characters. It's important to keep the sense of otherness intact while also making sure they're still relatable as people.

Blues is certainly one of the more traumatized characters in the series, and I like seeing how different authors take different approaches to how he deals with that, and how his experiences might shape his worldview and personality.

Sometimes, I feel like it's easy to forget how young all these robot characters are in Classic. While we don't really have a good idea for how old Blues is, as there's no real timeline in place, we can assume that the other Robot Masters, at their debut, are essentially children. How do you even make sense of a world like that, where you're brought online solely to work or to fight someone else's battles?

It's just as bad in the X series, though in different ways, and perhaps I'll explore that in a different story.

As for the question about my Tumblr (from a review I received on ), my main tumblr is the same username that I use on this site, though I admittedly didn't post much by way of fic, so unless you want to see my art or memes, you won't be finding the content you're looking for. I'll add that I stopped posting art after Tumblr's major policy update in regard to images.

I do have more writing, but most of it is confined to Docs or disjointed threads I've done with Mids. We're considering compiling and reworking that into fic at some point in the future, when she's able to focus on writing again. We do have enough content for that, but I'd rather you guys see that once it's been made coherent.

Until next time, and thank you for reading!


	4. Attrition

"Rock, can you disengage from local wireless and reject any communications queries or requests that come through?"

Rock's head bowed, though he offered no verbal protest, his jaw setting, his molars clamped together. Emotionally drained, at his wit's end, overwhelmed with little idea of where to turn, her words were a welcome respite even if from where he stood, her demands were counterproductive.

He wasn't as old as Kalinka Cossack: she had two decades to his one, and human minds changed organically as they grew. He knew that she understood things that he could barely wrap his head around, chiefly things that dealt with other humans.

It wasn't for lack of his intelligence, that much he knew. He was plenty street-smart, too, and jaded enough to understand that sometimes, force became an inevitability, even if he used the gentlest hand he could at all times.

Kalinka's gaze softened for a moment, silent gratitude conveyed in her expression before she turned from Rock.

Blues was on the receiving end of none of her compassion.

"_What is this? Do you know what you've done? They–"_ She caught herself then, glancing between the two Robot Masters before turning her back to Rock, her expression and the tilt of her head plain enough that even Proto Man couldn't feign ignorance.

The elder one, she knew, could ignore the compulsions of his programming much more reliably than Rock. But she couldn't quite bring herself to insult Rock by taking a conversation about him out of the room.

So she stared at Blues, knowing full well that he could read far more than he generally let on, his prolonged silence fraying the last shreds of her patience.

She couldn't see his gaze behind the visor, but she knew she'd won this silent battle of attrition when his shoulders relaxed, sagging from their too-straight default.

"There's no time. Or would you rather I _leave_ him to them?"

"Like you left _Roll?"_

Too far, she knew, even as the words flew thoughtlessly from her lips. His expression hadn't changed, not really, but she still looked away from him, her face flush with shame.

A low blow.

The silence between them dragged on, becoming more painful by the second. When he finally spoke, his voice cut into her like a blade. "I need to run a full repair cycle. Where's your father?" He didn't want to talk to her anymore. Dr. Cossack would be more reasonable, his mood tempered with age and experience.

"At a conference in Helsinki."

_Helsinki? _He didn't have time for this.

She could almost imagine a frustrated huff escaping him as he moved around her, back to Rock. She turned on one heel, silently watching as Rock allowed himself to be manhandled, knowing full well that Blues knew exactly where the lab was.

Asking her permission to go down would have been a formality. They'd made it clear in the past that he was welcome, and it appeared he was familiar enough with human convention to know that right now, he didn't need _her _permission, not when this building was in her father's name. Not when this was still his house.

She could press the issue, of course, but he was betting on her not. And she didn't. Instead, she turned and headed toward the lab, the Light brothers steps behind her.

She'd had a Robot Master at her heels like this before, the nearly inaudible whirr of hydraulics accompanying footfalls that sounded a little too heavily, belying a solid, inorganic construction. It'd creeped her out a little bit when her father first began construction on her brothers, her life completely devoid of Robot Masters until that point. Once Dr. Wily ordered her kidnapped, she'd been nauseatingly terrified of any robot that approached. She was only ten, but she'd gone online, reading news stories that a child her age shouldn't have gone seeking. Her young imagination did the rest.

Blues had quite a time coaxing her to come with him quietly when he appeared with the promise of rescue. Was that really ten years ago? It felt like ten lifetimes.

She realized they were in the lab. Blues was already moving around her, settling Rock onto the exam table, gathering tools and equipment. Rock's gaze was carefully avoiding hers.

Another pang of guilt pulsed through her.

She should say something to him, to them. Even if there was no love lost between Dr. Light and Blues, Rock had been close to him. Very close.

And Roll…

What words were there? No one had known what to say to her when her mother died, when her brother died. Now that she was in that position, she was equally tongue-tied.

Instead, she found herself silently moving over to Rock and wrapping her arms around him.

And Mega Man, the fabled robot that'd saved the world time and time again, sobbed freely into her shoulder.

**A/N:**

It's been a while, hasn't it? A lot has been going on irl, but the biggest factor in my silence is I got a new job, and the company moved me over 500 miles to join them in the corporate office. This has been a huge adjustment to me, as I'm sure you can well imagine.

But still, if that's my biggest complaint, then life is going well!

As for the chapter...Capcom probably won't delve into the darker aspects of Classic, but what happens to Rock and the other Robot Masters after Dr. Light passes is a very interesting question to me, not least because it can be taken into several totally different and very plausible directions. That said, I don't have a set headcanon for how that would go; it'd really depend on the story I'm telling and where I want to take it.

I don't like the interpretation of the Robot Masters where they're incapable of feeling or comprehending complex emotions. I like them better as complex beings capable of considerable depth, but perhaps unable to communicate and display in a way that most of humanity is willing or able to interpret.

It sort of touches on my interest in xenofiction in that respect.

That said, thank you for reading, and until next time!


	5. Trust

Blues snapped online in an instant, systems screaming forth, defensive protocols booting into full, tier-one alerts. Had he booted as Wily programmed him to, he'd have targeted the nearest hostile unit and dissuaded it from any aggressive behavior with a half-conscious physical retaliation of his own.

Instead, Blues seized up, curling slightly on himself before rolling to one side and coughing roughly. One gauntleted hand came up to cover his mouth, that etiquette deeply ingrained in his programming even when he was in such systems disarray.

His armored gauntlet was stained a deeper red with fresh coolant, which he registered as his optics booted back on. Slowly, he pushed himself into a seated position, taking a moment to spit out the rest of the pooled coolant before turning and looking around, his mind muddled in the wake of this latest core attack.

Rock was crouched nearby, fully armored, his sharp blue gaze intent on him. He'd buried his worry beneath apparent calm, his brow furrowed with concern over the coolant.

Blues didn't remember even being in an alcove when this latest attack struck, and his breathing caught as he shifted, his systems aching and pulsing in time with his core.

He knew without asking that Rock had dragged him there, out of immediate sight. The ruined shells of mechaniloids were scattered about twenty yards beyond Rock—he must've cleaned the area out, too.

That, at least, was standard procedure and not an extra precaution to be taken when a friendly unit was down, though this was certainly a reversal in roles. He was usually the one looking out for Rock.

"You should have someone look at you," Rock said quietly. Had this been any other unit, Rock would have coordinated a teleport to Dr. Light's lab for repairs, but…

That wouldn't be right, even though it should be. Rock didn't know what, exactly, had gone on between Dr. Light and Blues to cause such pained expressions all around, and he wasn't sure why Dr. Light got so _quiet_ whenever he came up. He had his suspicions, certainly, and he could make a _very_ educated guess, but given the circumstance, it wasn't his place to know or judge.

Either way, Rock knew that he was right in telling Blues that, "You can't continue with your core causing cascading systems errors, not if they're doing that to you," a scan flitted over Blues as Rock continued, "And you have some internal damage to your coolant lines," or so Blues' systems reported, though it was a bit surprising that he hadn't rebuffed the scan. "You need that sealed up."

Bleeding out wasn't as life-threatening to a robot or a Robot Master as it was to a human, but it was still a valid concern, and something that shouldn't be left to lie.

Blues' gaze was on Rock's while he spoke, but once he fell silent, his eyes flitted around the room once more and he registered that his helmet was on the ground beside him. Lightly, he touched his forehead, as though needing that verification. He hadn't even noticed that his visor wasn't over his eyes. He was always so muddled after an attack.

This was the first time Rock had actually witnessed one, and it was a testament to how much he'd grown that he didn't outright panic and transport them both to the safety of Dr. Light's lab. Regardless of who Blues was to Dr. Light or who he could potentially be to Rock, he was still someone who'd been there for him when no one else had or could. He'd still gone out of his way to teach Rock how to survive as the wars escalated, and he was always a few steps behind, watching Rock's back. His advice had been sound, time and again, and he genuinely cared, as Rock did in return.

That relationship, that camaraderie, was so insanely precious to Rock, and so deeply respected, that he was hesitant do _anything_ behind Blues' back, including sneaking him to a lab for repairs, no matter how desperately needed they were.

Blues' hand ghosted over his chest for a moment before both his arms went lax at his sides and he sighed, "It's not a major rupture," so he'd be able to, at least, finish up what they were doing here, provided he took the time for his systems to even out first. Really, the throes of the attack were what caused the coolant to leak and pool.

"We don't clot the way humans do," Rock said flatly. "You'll need new coolant on top of the patch," or full replacement, depending on the shape of the damage.

Blues smirked, his tired eyes turning to Rock, "What do you suggest we do here, in the middle of one of Wily's outlier facilities?"

Rock blinked, not at all put out by the other's teasing tone. "Let me take a look."

Blues quirked an eyebrow. "You want to do an invasive procedure here?"

Rock made a show of looking around. "There aren't any mechaniloids left to shoot at us."

At Blues's skeptical look, Rock rocked back on his heels. "It's been over an hour and he hasn't sent a new wave."

"That's awfully sentimental of him."

Rock shrugged. "Better than sending you a card?"

Okay, maybe that was too much, and the blue Lightbot quickly added, "He's young, one of the Second Numbers probably told him to hold."

Blues sighed again, shaking his head lightly before carefully lying back down, his gaze disinterestedly tracing the tiles on the ceiling. "I will not offline for this."

"You won't need to," Rock promised as he scooted closer, his Buster converting to his Variable Tool System, the lab array he used when doing repairs in Dr. Light's lab. "It'll be quick, in and out. Everything's by the access panel, right?"

Blues closed his eyes in assent. Yes, everything was.

Just like Rock.

**A/N:**

I hope everyone is doing okay, and those who have to work outside the home are able to stay safe.

Okay, so about this chapter. Classic is supposed to be the more playful, low-stakes lighthearted side of this franchise. Even so, it's still grappling with some serious themes and implications, and the juxtaposition of the two is part of what I think makes it so compelling.

I like to play off the (later) Wily Wars as war games between the Robot Masters, though ones that still had high stakes. The Wilybots' goal isn't to retire Rock or Blues, but rather what they're after is the paralyzing effect the wars and the fear have on human governments. Reporters aren't this deep on the battlefield since they _will_ get killed. This far in, the war shifts to a careful game of chess with clear rules of engagement. If Rock loses, he still _loses_ and we as the audience probably would not appreciate that outcome, but win or lose, all participants are adhering to a very specific set of (mostly unspoken) rules. Blues isn't the main player in the war games against the Wilybots, and a medical emergency not caused by the current engagement is sufficient to hit 'pause' on the game for a little bit.


End file.
